


I'll Be Needing Stitches

by lovelyair



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyair/pseuds/lovelyair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of Stitches by Shawn Mendes</p>
<p>Post 1x10<br/>After Cameron wakes up from his coma, he realizes his recovery will be twice as hard if he stays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Needing Stitches

She was haunting him. Reminding him of the failure that he caused her. As soon as the breath came back into his lungs and his heart began pumping he knew it. _He could feel it_. When he finally opened his eyes, and she had told him that he had been in a coma for six very long days, he felt a pain race through his chest. His beating heart cluing him in on their failed mission.

When the realization of what he had done finally settled in him, he felt defeated. He had put so much faith in his own mind to help them out that he hadn’t considered that it would fight back. His anger at being unable to shield her from whatever force was after them fueled his defeat even more. He had let her down. He had recklessly let her down, so sure that she would get the information that she needed that he had ended his life for her.

He had never loved anyone with such ferocity before. So much so, that it terrified him. It terrified him to realize that there was no stopping him from doing whatever it took to keep her safe. He had purposely stopped his own heart, his own pumping blood, his own lungs for her. For a single person. With no promise that if he woke up, his feelings would be returned. He had told his mother that it was worth it, that she was worth it, he just hadn’t realized how worth it she was. It wasn’t until he felt the cold serum flowing through his extremities that it dawned on him.   
_He had to keep her safe._

It terrified him to realize that once he woke up, they were still in the same danger. The stitch had produced zero results for them. She kept telling him that everything was okay. That as long as he was alive, that nothing else mattered. But it did. _It mattered._ Because if he couldn’t keep her safe from this, then he couldn’t keep her safe at all.

He could still see her, standing in his apartment with her arms crossed against her chest. Fresh tears at the ridge of her eyes. Something that he wasn’t used to seeing on such a stoic face. Her questions wondering why he would do this. Why he would leave.   
He had to. He had failed her, failed the team, and failed the mission. How could he protect anyone when he was so useless? When he couldn’t even manage to show her one piece of information?   
The one thing he hadn’t mentioned to her when he awoke was that he remembered. He remembered what it was like to die. To go limp in her arms and lose all sense of himself. To know that he was taking the biggest risk of his life to insure that nothing happened to her. What if he had told her how he really felt? What if he had never woken up?

Those thoughts drove him through the unfamiliar process of packing his bags. It wasn’t often that he left town, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. He couldn’t stay in an environment that smothered him, that pushed the pressure of his failed attempt on him. Every time he looked at her, he hated himself. How he had managed to fall so in love with her that he took the chance that he did. That he asked her to trust him, and then willingly abandoned her.

He zipped up a pocket on his travel bag, moving on to the bathroom when he heard his front door open. Heard her footsteps, her voice, as they called out to him.   
Not now.   
_He couldn’t do this now._

“Where are you going?” She asked as he heard her enter his bedroom. Her voice began strong only to falter by the last word.   
He didn’t bother looking at her. He wouldn’t be able to leave if he did.   
“Away. For a while.”  
She sighed and he heard her palms hit the sides of her pant legs, “why? Why are you leaving?”  
“I just need some time away.” He was keeping his answers quick and short, hoping she would keep this visit the same.   
“Cameron?” He heard her footsteps come closer to the bathroom and he took the opportunity to put down the items he was holding in his hands back on the counter. He didn’t dare look at her. He could see her through the corner of his eye in the reflection of the mirror. Could see how stiff she was, how closed off she was being. Yet, at the same time, wanting to be closer to him; trying to reach out.   
“I tried to keep you safe. I couldn’t. I can’t be here right now.” the shaky breath that left his throat caught him off guard and he shook his head to clear the throbbing in it.   
He heard her steps come closer, her tone biting on the edge of annoyance, “I told you, it doesn’t matter. Everyone told you. It’s more important that you’re alive.”   
He shook his head once more. His palms glistening with a sheen of sweat, his blood percolating through his veins. The heat in his cheeks rising.   
“Don’t.” came his low growl.   
He watched as her arms crossed over her chest. “Why can’t you just be glad you’re alive like we all are?” Her tone mirrored his annoyance, “why are you acting like this?”

Something inside of him snapped. He heard the crack rumble through his ears. Felt his palms as they smashed down on the counter.   
“Because I couldn’t keep you safe, Kirsten!” His loud voice bouncing off the small bathroom.   
“I asked you to trust me, and I didn’t come through. I’m not supposed to be alive right now!”   
His eyes shut themselves tightly as he let the words sink in to her.   
He heard her breath come out slow, “did you expect to die? Did you want to die?”  
What was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to make this right? As long as it meant her safety, he would literally do anything for her. He thought he had already proven that. And now all he wanted was to get out of this bathroom, this apartment, this city, her life. He didn’t want to be the burden that dragged her down any longer. Didn’t want her haunting him every second that he was awake, reminding him that he couldn’t save her. Couldn’t save the team. Couldn’t get the answers. Cameron Goodkin had never failed in his whole life, but he realized that even stopping his own heart had failed her.

“So, just like that, huh?” She interrupted his thoughts, her tone shaking with each syllable. He had never heard Kirsten Clark on the edge of devastation and it only solidified his decision in leaving. He was the reason for this. Camille told him, after he woke up, how she was screaming his name through the lab. How her screams ripped through her throat, even after his heart began its steady beat once more.   
But hearing it here, knowing he had been the constant reason for her turmoil was enough to drive him over the edge.   
“I'm…sorry.” He breathed out heavily.   
A huff left her, “you’re sorry?” Her anger rising now, her arms gripping themselves tighter against her chest, “oh, you’re sorry. You killed yourself, you were in a coma for six of the longest days of my life, and the minute you wake up; you decide to leave. But you’re sorry, so all of that is suddenly okay, right?”  
His head snapped in her direction and for the first time since he had woken up, he looked at her. Really looked at her. She looked tired, sad, worn down in a way that he had never thought he would see on her. She didn’t carry the same bounce of air around her. That was his fault.  
“I did it to prove to you that you could trust me!” His voice rose higher.   
“So leaving me, like my father, my mother, and Ed? That’s proving to me that I can trust you?” She sounded offended. Like he had overstepped a line that she had drawn in the sand.

He pushed himself out of the bathroom, flicking off the light. Anything else he thought he may need he would just pick up later. He had to leave. He was choking from all the pressure on him. His fragile heart trying not to bounce out of his chest. She didn’t move as he made his way around the rest of his room, zipping up his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.   
She flicked off the light switch as she followed him out of the bedroom in to the dining area. The silence between them thick with unsettled words. Unresolved feelings.

She stood a fair distance behind him as he plopped the bag down on the floor next to the front door. Grabbing his coat and hooking the buttons through.   
“Aren’t you in love with me?” She blinked at him.   
His fingers froze. His heart dropping in to his stomach. His steady knees rocked him backwards.   
“What?” He cut off.  
“I felt it. I was everywhere in the stitch. You’re in love with me and it was so intense…” she trailed off. Hanging her head low.   
“I let you down, Kirsten. I just need to go back home for a bit. Back to my parents. Back to something that I survived once, so I can remind myself that I can survive this time.”  
He looked back at her, seeing the fresh tears strangle her as he grabbed the bag off the ground. She was holding on to herself. Processing all of this, all of these emotions, to put this behind her. He could see the wheels turning in her head. This was one of the times that he was glad that she had Temporal Dysplasia. So she could put it all behind her the minute he walked out of the apartment. She would probably stay for a while, in his place. Just to process everything, like she usually did.   
He swung the door open, letting the cool air of the hall greet him. His plane was leaving in a few hours and if he didn’t get going soon, he wouldn’t make it. His heart wanted him to stay, wanted him to drop his bag and gather her up in his arms and never make her feel this way again; but his feet pushed him forward.   
“Yes.”   
She cocked her head a bit, asking him to continue,   
“Of course I’m in love with you.”

No amount of distance seemed far enough away. If he could run back to the east coast, he would have started that second. His nerves, as he found his plane seat, were beginning to dance under his skin. He just needed to get back to his roots. To remind himself that he had been through this once before. That he wasn’t supposed to survive a first time, let alone a second. That he was grateful for his beating heart not plagued by it. That now he had another chance to live, when he didn’t deserve it.   
His eyes shut tightly again as he played the scene in his apartment over in his head once more. As the pilot announced they would be taking off shortly, he reached for his phone. Nothing. No notifications waiting for him. No texts, no calls, nothing. It was better this way. She was processing this and she would be able to get past this, if she wasn’t already.   
He had to get her out of his head, had to get her out of his heart, had to get her out of his life, had to think about what he wanted for his future. His mother would be proud.

He rested his head on the back of the seat and took a deep breath, letting the warm air dance on his lips as he released it. Cameron Goodkin was a man of Science, he knew how the brain worked, he knew how his heart pumped. He had joined the program to help people, to help them understand just a bit more of what he knew.   
But as he felt the pull of the airplane as it prepared to ascend, he suddenly wished that he had listened to his mother all those years ago. That he hadn’t turned down the position at MIT to join the program, and especially, he wished that he had never met Kirsten Clark.


End file.
